


Little Doe

by dreadpiratewatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awesome Mary Morstan, Baby Watson, Cancer, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fatherhood, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt John Watson, John Has a Daughter, John Loves Sherlock, John Watson is a Saint, John Watson's Daughter - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock Fluff, M/M, Mary Dies, Mary Ships It, Mary is lovely, Minor Molly Hooper/Greg Lestrade, Parent Death, Parent!lock, Parent-Child Relationship, Parentlock, Past Mary Morstan/John Watson, Requited Love, Romantic Fluff, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson Feels, Sherlock Loves John, Sherlock is a Good Parent, tw: cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:52:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadpiratewatson/pseuds/dreadpiratewatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock have a wonderful life full of criminals, love, and an awful lot of running. They loved each other more every day. When an old flame from John's past comes with some shocking, terrifying news, both of their worlds are turned upside down. John never expected to be a father in his life with Sherlock, but there's not much you can do about a deed done five years earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Doe

**Author's Note:**

> 1.) First, I apologize if the French is wrong. I tried to make it as accurate as I could, but it's hard when you speak minimal French. If anyone would like to correct it, PLEASE DO, I WILL NOT BE OFENDED. 
> 
> 2.) The conversation about the "princes and princesses" is an actual conversation I was there to hear when my friend's niece met he and his boyfriend for the first time.

Sherlock Holmes was not a jealous man.

This idea was outlandish to most people, considering that his boyfriend was considered a bit of a womanizer, and openly called "Three Continents Watson" by his army buddies, but Sherlock couldn't have cared less. Knowing his boyfriend's extensive history with woman was like knowing the layout of the solar system. Irrelevant.

The only time he ever asked about it was one lazy Sunday afternoon when they were cuddling on the sofa watching an episode of Doctor Who-the one with the blonde girl on the beach saying goodbye to the skinny guy in the suit-that makes John misty eyed, even though he's seen it a hundred times. Right after the guy in the suit faded off of the beach and the girl started crying, for some reason, Sherlock decided to ask a question. "Did you ever love anybody like that?" He had asked, although he was unsure why.

John looked down at him with gleaming eyes and a happy smile and tightened his grip on the detective's shoulders. "Yeah, stupid, you." He had joked.

Sherlock had rolled his eyes at the comment, although his heart had fluttered. "Other than me, I mean."

The army doctor had hesitated and leaned his head back against the sofa. "Once." His response was light.

"When?"

He remembered the way John had sighed, like it was something he didn't like talking about it. "Before I went to Afghanistan I had a friend named Mary. We had been friends since our last year at uni together, and we had a sort of 'friends-with-benefits' relationship more than anything else. She and I hooked up occasionally, whenever we were both single, and we had a pact that if we were both unmarried by the time we were thirty-five, we'd get married. Well, I ended up in the army, and she ended up engaged to some man from Toronto or something. During my last leave before I got shot and discharged, her engagement was sort of over, and we ended up hooking up that night. She was actually my best friend, and I loved her, I did, I really, really loved her, but, I went back to Afghanistan, and I lost contact with her after I got shot." He paused and pressed a soft kiss to the the detective's head. "But, when I came back, I fell in love with someone else, and I'd choose him over anybody."

Sherlock had no response to that, he only sighed happily and snuggled deeper into his army doctor's embrace while the stupid electronic theme song played in the background. John gave Sherlock no reason to be jealous. So, he dropped the subject and never brought it up again. John would be careful with his heart. He knew it.

**______________**

~Three Years Later~

"Sherlock, seriously, can you _not_ put your body parts near the bloody food?" John half-shouted out to the living room as he shoved the bag of various fingers and toes to the side, suddenly not hungry anymore.

He heard the detective sigh. "It's an-"

"I know it's an experiment, Sherlock, just keep it away from the food!" He grumbled, walking back into the living room where his obnoxious boyfriend was reading through cases on his laptop from his chair. "I don't like to have to push through plastic bags of fingers and elbows and god knows what else Molly lets you take home. Honestly, why do I put up with you?"

Sherlock flashed him his playful, charming smile that he new John adored. "No one else is this fun." He replied.

John couldn't argue with that.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's lips before heading back into the kitchen to make himself some body-part free tea.

Just he stepped away, the detective's phone from the table began to ring, and of course, Sherlock jumped at the sound, eager for a case. John smirked to himself. He loved when Sherlock got excited like that. It was too cute. "Lestrade?" There was a pause, and in the doorway, John could see his boyfriend's face contort slightly with a look of confusion, and the doctor became interested. "Um... Yes, he's here." He held out the phone to John. "Some woman for you."

John raised an eyebrow, but took the phone anyway and held it to his ear. "Hello?"

"John?"

The voice he recognized instantly, and although it came as a shock, he couldn't stop the smile. "Mary?"

"Yes, hello! How are you?" The woman asked, her voice just as cheerful and sweet as he remembered.

The doctor went back into the kitchen to finish his tea, a smile still on his face. "Oh, I'm great! Sherlock and I just got back a case in Austria yesterday, so we're taking a lazy day. And by lazy, of course, I mean he's looking for new cases already." He replied.

Mary laughed. It was still the same. "Does he ever sleep?"

"Very, very rarely."

"Looks like you have your hands full." She teased.

John looked back out to,his boyfriend, who had returned to his case searching. "Yes, always." With his mug of tea finished, he proceeded to start back toward the living room. "So, how are you, it's been a while. Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, you know." She responded vaguely, which John knew very well as Mary's way of saying 'not really'.

He frowned. "What's wrong? Are you alright?" He asked her carefully. Sherlock looked up at that time, and locked his eyes on the soldier's face.

Mary hesitated. "Listen, John, um... There's something I need to tell you." Her voice had completely lost the cheerful, sunshine-like tone it held earlier, and suddenly, she sounded unsure and afraid, which was something very unlike her.

"Mary, what is it? Are you alright?"

There was another painstakingly long pause, and John could hear her trying to compose herself, which worried him all the more. "Do you remember the last time we spent the night together, almost five years ago?"

He bit his lip nervously. "Yes?"

"John... We have a daughter."

John's heart dropped to his stomach just as quickly as his tea cup went crashing to the floor.

**_______________**

John Watson had left the house right when the phone call ended, leaving a very confused, very concerned Sherlock behind. His boyfriend called after him nervously, but he was already out the door and stomping down the stairs of 221B. He needed to get out. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, his mind was going a hundred miles an hour and he was on the verge of panicking, but he had no clue why. _We have a daughter._ Mary's words played over and over and over in his head. _He had a daughter._ He had a daughter. John Watson, who hadn't been with a woman in two years, and hadn't seen Mary in four, had a daughter. 'I want her to meet you.' Mary had said over the phone. 'I know this is a lot to take in, and I want you to take time to process this, but... I want her to meet you, John.'

But John wasn't listening.

He walked around the park for nearly two hours before finally settling down on a bench to think. He checked his phone and saw that Sherlock had texted him multiple times in a panic, a series of and he nearly texted back, but for the moment, his fingers were frozen to the screen. He put his phone in his pocket without typing a single word.

He had a daughter. A four year old daughter, whose mother was the woman he hadn't seen in years. How the hell was he supposed to explain that to Sherlock? The man he loved more than anything in the world was sitting at home, worried sick, and how the hell was he supposed to tell him that he had a daughter? John didn't know whether to be excited, angry or horrified. Why hadn't Mary told him before? A child isn't something you keep from someone. And why now of all times to tell him? Why five years later? _God, what a mess._ The doctor groaned and buried his face in his hands.

He felt his phone vibrate once against in his jacket pocket, and knowing it was Sherlock, he took it out.

_John, please come home, you're scaring me. -SH_

He suddenly felt guilty. After all, he had sort of stormed out after hanging up the phone with Mary, without saying a word. In his haste to leave, he had almost forgotten that Sherlock was always one to misread things like that as something terrible. He knew he had to go home. _Can't run from this forever._ He told himself as he hauled himself to his feet.

**_________________**

The walk back to Baker St. seemed abnormally short, but that may have been because all the while, John was trying to script out what exactly he wanted to say to Sherlock. He had to do it delicately, and even though he wasn't exactly sure about the whole situation himself. Nothing sounded right, no matter how much he went over it in his head. Knowing how worried the detective got, this situation was going to hit him hard. Even the seventeen steps of 221B Baker St. seemed abnormally difficult to climb, as the doctor's knees were shaking and he knew Sherlock was waiting. He climbed them heavily, making noise so that his boyfriend knew he was coming.

The moment he stepped foot inside their flat, he could hear Sherlock running from their bedroom at the end of the hall. The detective stopped just short of the living room, and he looked John over with nervous eyes. John tried to smile at him like he always did whenever he came home, but he knew it was much too strained to be comforting or reassuring. He looked down to the floor where he had dropped the teacup and noticed that the mess had been cleaned up already. "You didn't have to clean that up, I would have taken care of it." He said gently.

Sherlock stood cautiously in the doorway, not once taking his eyes off of him. "I... I got worried. It seemed like a good idea." He replied weakly, his voice shaking the entire time.

John winced. "I'm sorry about that." He took a step forward and reached for his boyfriend, who almost at once ran forward and threw his arms around the shorter man and buried his face in his neck. John propped his chin up on the man's shoulder and allowed his pounding heart to slow as Sherlock's arms tightened around him. "Are you alright?" He asked, pressing a kiss the detective's cheek.

"I'm just glad you're home." Sherlock rasped. "You looked really upset when you left, and you wouldn't answer your phone... I just got worried."

The doctor sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, I didn't mean to scare you."

The arms around his neck tightened very briefly, then Sherlock pulled away. His eyes locked with John's while he read every hidden emotion and thought on his face. "Something's wrong." He said, his voice slightly nervous. "What did Mary say? Is everything... Alright?"

_Fuck._ John's thoughts went swimming back to what Mary had said on the phone, and the same fear and pure shock of the news overtook him once again.

Sherlock, sensing the way his body tensed and the change in emotion, stepped back. "John?" He gasped.

John's mouth went dry. _You have to tell him._ The voice in his head too him. _You can't keep this from him. He's going to assume the worst if you lie._ "Sherlock..." He said his name slowly to keep it from shaking. "There's uh... There's something we need to talk about.

The detective's face contorted and John could almost hear the way his heart seemed to drop. "O-okay." John was kicking himself mentally already from how scared his boyfriend sounded already. He shouldn't have phrased it like that, but he was too focused on the issue at hand to fix it now.

Instead, he slid his fingers into Sherlock's own and squeezed lightly as he lead him over to the sofa for them to talk. Sherlock sat close, still clinging to John's hand, but he kept his gaze on the coffee table. The anxiety was coming off of him in waves, but John knew he had to do this. He took a deep breath. "Sherlock... I want you to know that what I'm about to tell you does not, and will not change anything between us, alright?" He said, squeezing his boyfriend's hand.

Sherlock flinched, but nodded.

"Good." The doctor bit at his lip. This was difficult. "Sherlock, do you remember me telling you about the last time Mary and I were together before I met you?" He asked, although it was a stupid question because Sherlock always remembered. The detective nodded. "Well, Mary called me because she wanted to talk to me about something that happened that night."

The detective's head snapped up, and suddenly John was staring guiltily into his fear-stricken blue-green eyes that he loved so much. "Does she want you back?" His voice was so quiet that it nearly broke John's heart. "Do you..." He swallowed hard, unable to finish his sentence.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, nothing like that." John rushed into the sentence, grabbing both of Sherlock's hands and pressing soft kisses to both of them. "Sherlock, I would never do that to you. No."

"Then what did she say? You've never... I've never seen you react to anything like that before."

John passed a hand over his face and averted his eyes. He couldn't look at Sherlock anymore. He kicked himself mentally. You're fucking up, John. He thought. _You're scaring him, John, you need to just tell him._ "Sherlock..." He began. "Mary and I have a daughter."

Sherlock froze. His jaw dropped ever so slightly, and he looked away from John and buried his face in his hands. "Are you sure it's yours?"

The doctor hesitated. He had no reason to _not_ trust Mary, especially after the past they had, but it was a bit weird that she'd tell him now of all times. But, again, this was Mary, his best friend in college, the person he made a marriage pact with. "I trust Mary, Sherlock." He said calmly. "I understand the suspicion, and I'm still skeptical myself, but... I trust her. Not saying that I won't get blood tests done, I want to be sure, but I trust her."

"What are you going to do?" The detective asked timidly.

John sighed. "Apparently, she wants to meet me. If you're comfortable with it, Mary is going to bring her down. But, I won't do anything if you're uncomfortable." He reached for his boyfriend's hands again and lightly squeezed his fingers. "You don't have to meet her if you don't want to, but, I think it's my job as a father to meet my daughter at least once."

"If she's yours." Sherlock added. "I'll be able to tell when I see her."

John did a double take. He hadn't been expecting that Sherlock would want to. "You want to meet her?"

The detective shrugged. "It would be easier for you if I were."

"You're probably right." John replied.

An awkward silence lingered over the heads of the two men, as both of them were processing the information that had been thrown at them. Neither of them knew what to say. John had a child, one he didn't know about, and for some reason, Mary chose nearly five years later to tell him. Both were equally terrified, John perhaps more so than his boyfriend, but it was to be expected. "Christ, Sherlock..." John groaned, burying his face in his hands. "What the _fuck_ am I going to do?"

Sherlock sighed. "For once... I have no idea." He sounded just as lost as John did. The detective leaned his head on John's shoulder in an attempt to be comforting. "What do you want to do if she's yours?"

John uncovered his face, but continued to look down at the ground. "I suppose I'll have to work it out with Mary. I can't just abandon my kid." He replied, the words tasting strange in his mouth. The uncertainty was killing him.

He felt Sherlock kiss his cheek. "We'll get through this. We'll figure it out, John." He whispered.

The doctor paused, then reached for his cell phone. "I'm going to call Mary back. I'm going to tell her to come see us."

He and Sherlock shared a look before John dialed the number again, but the look said it all. _Jesus Christ, what are we doing._

**________________**

They made plans with Mary for her to come down and stay a week while they waited for the results of the blood test. She thought it best to come down immediately, which they agreed to, so Sherlock called Lestrade as well as Sarah to tell her that he and John would be unavailable for the next week. Neither of them talked about it in the days leading up to their arrival, except Sherlock decided to clean everything. John decided to stock the house up with food, spans while he was out shopping, Sherlock cleaned everything in the refrigerator. Every experiment he was working on went in the trash, and he had only blushed when John pointed it out.

The Saturday that Mary came down, they waited anxiously in the living room while the news played in the background, although neither of them were actually paying attention. Teacups went forgotten and cold as they sat in an unnerving silence, gripping each other's hand so tightly that their knuckles were going white. They were equally terrified. Eventually, they heard the downstairs door open, and both of them scrambled to their feet, cleaning up anything in sight while Mrs. Hudson (who was already well aware of the situation) directed Mary upstairs. John was the one to open the door. He did it slowly, but the moment he took in the sight of Mary, he nearly fell over.

She looked the same; tall, petite, blonde, beautiful eyes and all. She was still colorful, her red pea coat was easily the brightest thing in the room, although her jeans were dark. She looked wonderful, actually. Older, yes, but Mary had always aged like fine wine. Their eyes locked, and the woman smiled. It was still the same smile. "Hello, John." She murmured.

John swallowed hard. "Hello, Mary." He tried to return the warm, welcoming smile, but it came out as a nervous grin instead. "Come in."

"Thank you." The woman stepped into the flat, and John couldn't help but look behind her, although he was confused when there was no child behind her.

Sherlock stepped forward when Mary came into view to shake her hand. "Hello." He said simply.

Mary took his hand timidly. "You must be Sherlock. I've heard all about you. John doesn't shut up about you on his blog." She said sweetly.

The detective flushed, but nodded. "Nice to meet you, Mary."

There was an awkward pause before anyone spoke again, but they were all waiting for Mary to speak. She seemed to notice, so she decided to break it. "I uh... I know you're wondering where she is, but I asked your landlady to watch her for a few minutes while I talked to you first." She paused and gazed down at the ground. "I... I want you to know that nothing about this is for money. I don't care about that, I just... I want a good life for her. She's been asking about you, John. I kept her from you for years because I thought you were still in Afghanistan at the time, I didn't know that you had been discharged. By the time I found out, she was a child, and you were with Sherlock. I knew what you do now, solving crimes and chasing all sorts of madmen around London, and I knew that a baby wouldn't exactly fit with your life." She breathed out heavily, and it was raggedy.

John was still standing there frozen, unable to speak, and when she looked up again with tears in her eyes, the doctor's knees felt weak. He gripped Sherlock's hand tighter as he swallowed hard. "I understand, Mary. I don't hold it against you." He replied hoarsely, but honestly. He really did understand, being a doctor, he had dealt with unexpected pregnancies before, and he could understand the fear.

Mary's eyes gleamed. "Are you ready to meet her?"

John looked to his partner, then nodded. "Yes."

The blonde woman turned around and opened the door ever so slightly. "Come here, sweetheart." She murmured. The sound of light stepping on the stairs on 221B seemed almost deafeningly loud in the army doctor's ears, and he counted each step. Mary's back was still to him, but only for a minute longer. He felt Sherlock's hand clinch around his own, and the detective let out a soft, yet audible gasp. Before he could react, the door was pushed open, a small figure peaked out from behind Mary's red coat, and John's entire world came to a screaming halt.

He wasn't exactly sure what he expected, but it sure as hell wasn't the small little girl standing just feet from him. She was small and petite like her mother, obviously lacking the baby pudge that most children of her age had. Her eyes were big and brown and they mirrored John's to a tee, although her hair was light and matched her mother's. She really _did_ look like Mary, but the more John Watson looked over the small child at his feet, the more he saw of himself. The resemblance was uncanny. John's heart began to race and pound in his chest the more he looked her over, and he was sure that he was gripping Sherlock's hand much too tightly to not hurt him. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to think, he felt like his head floating off of his shoulders as well as his feet begin to levitate off of the floor.

_This is my daughter._

His heart leapt.

Mary smiled cautiously and put a hand on the little girl's back. "John, Sherlock, this is Charlie. Short for Charlotte." She said softly.

John's heart skipped a beat. _Charlie. Of course she named her Charlie._ He released Sherlock's hand and very, very slowly gave his shaking knees a break and crouched down on the ground to be face to face with the little girl in front of him. He got down to her level and tried his best to smile. "Hello, Charlie." He said quietly.

The little girl stared at him with her large brown eyes full of wonder and confusion as most little girls did, and he realized that she was positively _glowing._ "Daddy?"

One word. All she had to had to utter was one word, and John's entire world shook. He was at a loss for words. He looked to Sherlock-who had been unnervingly quiet the entire time-for guidance. The detective hesitated, but eventually gave a swift jerk of his head to indicate a nod. John, understanding what he meant, turned back to the little girl. "Y-yeah."

Not even a second was wasted before the little girl had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and John was nearly falling over from the amount of emotion that threatened to pull him down. Charlie's thin arms stayed hooked around the army doctor's neck for quite some time, and although he was shaking pretty badly, he wrapped his arms around her as well. He gazed up at Mary, who was watching the two of them with tears in her eyes, and tried not to let himself tear up as well. He was at such a crossroads with emotions, he wanted to be happy, but the underlining layer of doubt was still burning deep in his mind, although the little girl in his arms looked so much like him it was almost enough to convince him. He was still lightheaded with shock and disbelief, the idea of him having a daughter was still terrifying and new, and he and Sherlock would have to talk about this a lot, but for now, he wanted to know her.

Charlie pulled away from him and looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes. John had to snicker at how far back she had to tilt her head back to see him because of how tall her was, but kept it to himself. "Daddy, who's that?" She asked.

Sherlock and John shared a look. This was the difficult part. "Uh..."

"That's Sherlock, baby." Mary answered _-thank_ God _for Mary-_ coming to their rescue. She got down on her knees beside the little girl, flashing the two men a reassuring smile before facing her daughter. "Do you remember how I told you that sometimes princes don't want to marry princesses, and that they want to marry princes?" Charlie nodded, and Mary beamed. "Well, your daddy is like that. He wanted to be with a prince instead."

John's mouth fell open at how easy Mary went into it. He expected it to be more difficult explaining it to a four year old, but Charlie seemed to understand in an instant. The little girl looked back up at Sherlock in awe. "Are you my daddy's prince?"

Sherlock hesitated, but promptly smiled and nodded at the little girl. "Sort of, yeah. Hello, Charlie." He murmured.

"Hello!"

Mary cleared her throat. "Come on, darling, it's late. Let's get you in bed. Say goodnight to Daddy." She said, taking Charlie's hand.

Charlie stuck out her lower lip into a pout. "But I'm not tired, Mummy!" She protested in her sweet little girl's voice.

"It's past your bedtime, sweetheart, now come on."

Charlie let out an annoyed sigh, but looked up at John again with a smile. "Goodnight, Daddy." She said, hugging him again.

This time, John stiffened at the touch, but he hugged her back. "Goodnight, Charlie."

The little girl pulled away and without any warning, threw her arms around Sherlock's waist. John's blood went cold, and Sherlock let out a low noise of confusion when she did, holding his arms out away from her. He looked utterly startled, and a bit uncomfortable, but she soon released him and went skipping away behind her mother towards the upstairs rooms.

The moment the women were gone, John, who was still standing frozen beside his boyfriend, gazed over at the detective in desperation. He didn't have to say a word, Sherlock already knew the question in his eyes. He met John's look, and with a slow nod, answered, sending the army doctor's heart on a whirlwind spin through his stomach. _She's yours, John._

Half an hour later, Sherlock, John and Mary were sitting in the living room, drinking red wine and sitting in almost complete silence. All of them were too shocked to say much of anything, so they just stared down at their glasses, all of them a bit tipsy already.

"You named her Charlie." John eventually said, breaking the silence.

Mary nodded. "I uh... I thought you'd like it, since you were so close to her. I always loved the name anyway." She replied gently.

"Who's Charlie?" Sherlock asked, which was actually the first thing he had said since the little girl arrived.

John sighed and took another sip of wine. "Charlotte, or Charlie for short, was my aunt. Practically another mother to me. Vegan, lesbian, feminist punk who had tattoos covering about eighty-five percent of her body and purple hair down to her waist. She was the second person that both Harry and I came out to, the first being each other, and she was practically everything to us. She died the year before I graduated uni. Car accident." The army doctor's voice trailed off, and he lifted the wine glass to his lips again. He was on his fourth already, while Sherlock was still nursing his first.

The detective bit at the inside of his lip and looked down into his glass. "I have to say, Mary," He mumbled, changing the subject. "The way you explained the relationship between John and I was... Interesting. Not in a bad way, of course, just..."

Mary laughed quietly. "I know it was a bit childish, but that's how I explained it to her before. I took her to the park one day, and there were these two young men in the park holding hands. She asked me why they were, and I knew that I had to explain it for when she met you, and the only thing I could think of to say 'sometimes princes want to marry other princes, and that's perfectly okay'." The blonde woman paused and looked up at John with a beaming smile. "You want to know what she said about it? It was the cutest thing I had ever heard."

"Sure."

Mary snickered. "After I explained it, she got quiet for a moment, then she looked up at me and said 'I bet their house is full of Spider-Man stuff'."

John threw his head back with laughter, and he quickly had to cover his mouth, as to not wake his sleeping daughter upstairs. Sherlock looked hopelessly confused, but he could tell whatever it was was a good thing. "Oh, my god, did she really say that?" He gasped once he could speak again.

"She's such a witty little thing."

"Indeed she is."

Once the laughter died down, Mary's gaze softened again, and she looked up at John nervously. "She's been wanting to meet you for so long, John. I know we're going to get that blood test tomorrow, and I know that you might not trust this yet, but I want to know that I'm telling you the truth about everything." She whispered.

The doctor clinched his fist very briefly, but he nodded. "I trust you, Mary. That hasn't changed. I just... Need to wrap my head around it all."

"Of course, I understand."

John nodded curtly, still unable to meet her eyes. "Good."

The room went silent again, this time blatantly uncomfortable, and it wasn't until Mary stood up nearly ten minutes later that they broke it. The blonde woman cleared her throat and set her wine glass to the side table. "Well, um... I'm exhausted, and I know we have a big day tomorrow, so I think I need to go to bed. Goodnight, Sherlock. Goodnight, John." Her voice trailed off softly, and with a sweet smile, she left the room.

"Goodnight." John called after her, although he wasn't sure she heard him.

Once the door was shut, Sherlock reached out and took his boyfriend's hand, squeezing it tightly in an attempt to comfort him. "We should sleep too, John. You're exhausted, I can tell."

The doctor sighed. "Yeah, alright, love. Let's go to bed."

The two cleaned up the wine glasses and the bottle, then started turning off the lights. Their bedroom seemed so far down the hall for John, but he blamed that on his tipsy vision and not the emotion piling up behind his eyes. They crawled into bed beside each other, wrapped tightly in the other's embrace, Sherlock whispering _I love you_ and other things into his army doctor's hair. That night, for the first time in many years, John Watson cried.

**________________**

The next morning was met with some surprises. Sherlock and John were awakened with a phone call from Mycroft saying that he could make sure that John and Mary's blood test would be ready within five hours so that they wouldn't have to wait. Normally, both men would be a bit irritated with the fact that Mycroft had such an insight into their lives, but for the moment, they were both thankful.

Also, that morning, after being awakened by the phone call from Mycroft that came at an ungodly hour of the morning, they were awaken again by the smell of beignets, a breakfast food that neither of them have had for a long time. It was nice and homey, and it made both men rise from their bed with smiles, despite the night they had. They walked out to the kitchen to see Mary cooking the small pastries in the kitchen while little Charlie sat close by at the table, coloring. It was a strange sight to say the least, of course, John and Sherlock had their blissful domestic life on the side of their wild adventures, but 221B Baker St. was never that domestic.

"Good morning." John said over the sizzling of breakfast in the kitchen.

Both Mary and Charlie looked up. "Morning, you too!" Mary grinned.

"Hi, Daddy!" Charlie said at the same time. "Hi, Mr. Sherlock!"

The detective grumbled a greeting, then reached for the screaming kettle on the stove to make tea.

John cleared his throat. "I got a call from Sherlock's brother this morning. He said the uh... Thing should only take a few hours. We don't have to wait."

Mary smiled at him over her shoulder. "That's fine."

When Mary took the pastries out and set them on a large plate, Charlie jumped up immediately out of excitement. "Mummy, can I put the sugar on?" She asked, her eyes gleaming.

"Oh, alright, but don't make a mess. This isn't our kitchen."

"I won't!" The little girl grabbed the container of powdered sugar and began to shake it out onto the pastries with joy. All was going well until she began to get it all over the table and Mary began to scold her while apologizing to John, who waved it off with a simple 'Sherlock's made a bigger mess in the kitchen before.' That earned him a playful glare from his partner, who was stirring his tea.

Breakfast was actually quite good. John had forgotten how well Mary could cook and bake and all that, and of course, the beignets were one of John's favorite breakfast foods. Sherlock even picked at them a little, and John tried not to laugh at his powdered sugar covered boyfriend. Charlie was pretty quiet, which was stunning for a four year old. She continued to draw and color with her set of crayons while she ate and happily kicked her feet under the table, occasionally pausing to wipe sugar off of her drawing. John watched her carefully, still in shock over her presence.

John and Mary decided to leave right after breakfast to go get their test done. Sherlock offered at watch Charlie while they were gone-which honestly surprised everyone-saying that he would just work on the case files that Lestrade had been bugging him to get through. Mary was completely okay with it, but John reminded him that he couldn't go off to his mind palace and forget that she was there. The detective only rolled his eyes, but John kissed him anyway.

There was a car waiting outside for them already by the time they were ready to leave. Charlie had settled on the floor by Sherlock's chair with her drawings, promptly ignoring everyone else, so Mary pressed a kiss to the top of her head and waited for John before walking out. Neither of them said a word, but John's hands wouldn't stop shaking.

**___________________**

The flat was quiet after John and Mary except for the soft rustling of Sherlock's case file and the sound of Charlie coloring on the floor. The detective liked that she was quiet, as most children were loud and treacherous things, but he didn't mind the little girl.

The more he thought about her, he realized the anxiety about whole situation that he had shoved into a corner of his mind palace was still racing through his body in waves, and he tried to suppress the feelings with little luck. Of course he already knew that Charlie was John's daughter, the evidence was clear already, but deep down, he was secretly (and guiltily) hoping that he was wrong. The thoughts were shameful, he knew that John loved him more than anything in the waking world and wouldn't ever leave him for anyone else, but a child... A child always complicated things. He knew John would never in his life abandon the daughter he knew was his. He was as honorable as they come.

"Can I have some milk?" Came a small voice from beside him.

Sherlock snapped out of his daze and turned to see Charlie standing beside him, her crayons still gripped tightly in her little fist. "Sorry, yes." He got to his feet and walked into the kitchen to pour her a glass of milk. The experiment he had been working on for a few days was gone now, so it kept the milk safe. He had been sure of that, knowing that Charlie was coming. He took the glass out to the living room, but was surprised to see the little girl sitting in his chair, looking at the case file he had been reading through. The sight stopped him for a moment before he said anything. "What are you-"

"What do these words mean?" Charlie asked, pointing the a place on the page.

Sherlock sighed and took the file back from her, gently pressing the cup of milk into her small hands and ignoring the soft thank you she utter afterwards. "It's French, you won't be able to read it." He replied.

Charlie got up from her chair and walked over by him to look at the file again. "Do you speak French?" She asked.

The detective nodded. "Most of my family does."

"Ooh! Say something! Say something!" Sherlock thought for a minute, then gave her a simple sentence about the weather outside being so nice. Charlie clapped and stared at him in awe. "I wanna learn French, Mr. Sherlock!" She said excitedly in her little girl voice that echoed off of the walls. "Teach me how to speak!"

And of course, how could he resist?

The detective spent the next few hours teaching the eager little girl to speak and read basic French, just the way he learned. It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty decent for a four year old. When she made a mistake, she scrunched up her nose just like John did when he was upset and corrected herself. She caught on quick, just as he had a child, and he even had her completing small sentences by the time they had reached the four hour mark. She never wanted to stop, she kept asking for more, and her memory was impeccable. The detective tried not to feel too proud of himself, but he had to admit that he was. He decided that he would never speak to Charlie in English again, only French. If she stayed of course.

Finally, when Sherlock decided five hours was long enough, so they settled down on the floor, Sherlock working on his case files and Charlie drawing elephants that Sherlock thought looked like lumps of carpet, which Charlie of course just laughed at. He still tested her, saying words in French, and she had to figure it out, and it continued like that until she asked how to say 'daddy' in French. Sherlock had hesitated, but told her anyway. "Mr. Sherlock?" She finally asked after having repeated the word over and over again.

"Hm?"

"If you're my daddy's prince, what can I call you?"

Sherlock froze where he sat and looked up into the light brown eyes of the little girl laying on her stomach in front of him. That was a question he was not expecting to have to answer. In the back of his mind he wished John was here, because he was at a loss for words. "Charlie, you can call me whatever you'd like." He stuttered terribly through the sentence, but he knew that was the right thing to say.

Charlie thought for a minute. "Can I call him daddy and then call you daddy, but in French like you told me?"

Sherlock's heart dropped into his stomach. "Um..." He blurted out without thinking. Was that something that happened in this situation? The detective had very minimal experience with children, and the idea of this was absolutely terrifying. He was most definitely not prepared for this. But... _This is John's daughter._ Sherlock nodded slowly. "I-if you'd like." He replied.

The little girl only smiled.

**______________**

_The test came back positive. Charlotte Morstan is definitely your daughter, Dr. Watson._ The man had said after handing John the sheet of paper with the results on them.

John didn't remember much after that, although he was well aware that he felt like he was floating as they thanked him and walked out to the car that was waiting for them. Mary wasn't saying anything either, which he was incredibly grateful for. Five hours after they arrived, they had their test results, and John Watson had become a father. _Jesus Christ._

"I'm sorry if you were hoping for a different result, John." Mary lamented after being in silence for too long.

The doctor couldn't think of what to say. He wasn't even sure of his own feelings at that moment, the initial shock still welling up inside his body. He didn't exactly feel upset, but he wasn't exactly happy either. Not because he didn't want his daughter, just the idea of having a daughter was still strange. He secretly knew deep down that she was his, he wasn't sure how, but he knew. Sherlock knew of course, the moment Charlie stepped in the room, he knew.

He wondered how Sherlock was actually feeling about this whole thing. He hadn't actually made it clear, he seemed to be more concerned about John than anything else. The detective wasn't experienced in this endeavor, so who knew what he was feeling. _I hope this doesn't bother him too much._

"John..." Mary started to say. "If you don't want to be a part of her life, you don't have to be, I just-"

"I'm not exactly sure _what_ I'm supposed to be feeling, Mary." He interrupted, gently. He met the woman's anxious eyes, but quickly looked away toward the back of Anthea's seat. "But, I do know that I'm not going to abandon her. She's my daughter. I want to get to know her."

The blonde's face lit up, no matter how much he tried to hide it. "Really?" She demanded excitedly.

The doctor nodded. "I suppose... We'll have to talk it over with Sherlock. I want to be a part of her life, and he'll just have to understand that. I know he probably won't have a problem with it, but I'm going to talk to him about it." He paused, and allowed himself to smile. "Who knows. This whole fatherhood things could be nice." He said it honestly, although he was still terrified of the idea of being a father, but, he realized then that he didn't actually mind the idea of being a father.

Mary said nothing, but reached out and pressed a kiss to his cheek, and the two continued the rest of the drive in silence.

When they pulled up outside the flat, John uttered a quick goodbye to Anthea and jumped out to follow Mary up the stairs. He was rather interested to see how Sherlock and Charlie were getting along, hoping there was nothing too traumatic going on. The flat sounded much too quiet from the steps, which didn't help the situation. "We're home love!" John called as he pushed open the door. _You better be home, dammit._ He thought. He heard a high pitched giggle that could only come from Charlie echo up from the floor between the chairs in the living room, and he turned to stare. Sherlock and Charlie were nothing sitting cross legged on the floor in a pile of crayons, markers and drawing paper, which was probably the strangest sight the doctor had ever seen.

Charlie looked up at the sound of the shutting door and smiled bright enough to power the room. "Hi, Mummy! Hi, Daddy!" She called.

Sherlock looked up. "John, Mary, come join us, we're drawing elephants." His voice was cheerful and friendly, which was also strange, considering he was with a child.

Charlie squealed and held up her drawing for Sherlock to see. _"Papa, regarde! Je l'ai colorié en bleu!"_ The little girl cried out, shocking John to his core. It took him a minute to realize that she was actually speaking French.

The detective grinned. _"C'est étonnant ma chérie."_ He replied, glancing over at John who was staring his boyfriend down in stunned silence.

"Sherlock... Did you teach my daughter French?" Mary gaped.

"Obviously not the whole language. Just a few things. She was curious and eager to learn, so I figured I'd help her out." Sherlock frowned. "Not good?" He questioned.

"Oh, no, it's fine, I just... Didn't expect it, that's all." The blonde replied.

Charlie got to her feet and came running up to the doctor, holding up a drawing of a lopsided elephant colored blue and grinned. "Daddy, look!"

John smiled at her, chuckling at the amount of pride that she held for her drawing. She was practically beaming. "It's lovely, darling!" He praised her, brushing her hair away from her face affectionately. He was over the shock finally, and he had to admit that he was a bit excited about the idea of having a daughter. He shared a glance with his boyfriend, and they both decided in that moment that everything would be alright.

That night, they ordered food from Angelo's and sat out in the living room to watch movies. Of course, Charlie brought her share of movies, mainly Disney princess movies and the Avengers movie she had seen a million times, but none of them said anything, they just let her watch and parade around the living room pretending she was Thor. She fell asleep during the princess movie she watched to watch, curled up half in John's lap, in between him and Sherlock, and the doctor was almost too comfortable and happy to move.

He looked down at the little girl asleep on him, releasing the last bit of the patronizing fear that had lingered behind. Mary had gone to bed only an hour before, and Sherlock was staring at the television screen in the most annoyed way as John knew he was arguing with everything the cheesy Disney film portrayed. The detective caught his eye, and the two smiled at each other with all of the kindness and the love in the world as they both watched the little girl snuggle deeper into his side. Slowly, John slipped his arms under her and shifted the weight so that he wouldn't wake her, and with Sherlock close behind, they stepped quietly up the stairs to the spare bedroom, and put Charlie in her bed. She never even stirred.

"I want to kept her, John." Sherlock said quietly once they had gone back downstairs to clean up the movie mess.

The doctor paused and gazed up at his boyfriend in pleasant surprise. "You do?"

Sherlock shifted his weight on the floorboards uncomfortably. "She's yours. I know it's a big responsibility, but we'll work it out with Mary somehow. I want to see her too." He confessed.

Without even a second to pause, John Watson made it across the room in three strides to cup the detective's face and kiss him almost a bit too roughly, simply out of pure ecstasy. Sherlock's back fell against the wall with a loud thump, and the detective wrapped his arms tightly around John's waist, gripping his jumper tightly between his fingers. When they finally pulled away from each other long enough to catch their breath, John let out a soft laugh under his breath as he pressed his forehead to Sherlock's own. "God, I love you." He murmured. "Yes, of course we can keep her."

Sherlock hmmm'd a reply as he caught John's lips once again, allowing the doctor to pull him slowly toward their bedroom as his nimble fingers pulled at the buttons on his dress shirt. The two tumbled back onto the bed, the fiery passion in their kiss never once letting up. They kept themselves quiet as best they could, as not to wake Charlie and Mary, but even in the quiet gasps and uttered _I love you_ 's, the doctor and his detective, they seemed to alate. They went to sleep in each other's arms once their breathing had slowed, in the orphic white glow of the glistening moon outside, smiles upon their faces, and the sound of early morning birds humming through the breeze.

**__________________**

The next few day played out smoothly. The small family did everything together, and it was always wonderful. Charlie was always energetic and her beautiful charismatic personality made everyone happy, even if they were in a bad mood that morning. She never missed a beat.

Sherlock taught her French every day, just a little, never too much to overwhelm her, but the detective was pleased with how quickly she caught on. She began asking questions in French, and while it was a bit mangled, her ideas were clear. Sherlock was proud, John was lost, and Mary was intrigued.

There was a rain storm one afternoon, and Charlie pulled on a bright yellow raincoat and started begging everyone to take her to the park so that she could play in the rain. John tried to explain that she would get sick if she did, but she only stuck out her lip in an adorable pout, and of course, the doctor made no attempt to persuade her otherwise. It was a wonderful week. Charlie was a joy to have a round the house, and knowing that Mary would be taking her home on Sunday was going to be difficult to face.

Everyone adored Charlie. Mrs. Hudson came upstairs to visit every time she got a chance and played with her as well, whatever she wanted. As far as she was concerned, Mrs. Hudson was her grandmother. Molly came by to drop off some things from the Austrian case, and was almost in hysterics about the little girl that called both John and Sherlock _'daddy'_ in some form or another, and she vowed _not_ to tell Greg Lestrade (to whom she was engaged to) about Charlie, stating it would 'make his heart explode'. She played with Charlie for a while, and taught her a cool trick to curl her hair so it would fit the tiara better. Before leaving, she congratulated John and Sherlock wholeheartedly, tears brimming in her eyes at how happy she was for the two men. She left after that, but her visit only refueled the pride.

Then, Mycroft came by.

John and Sherlock had taken Charlie out to the movies to see the knew superhero movie she wanted to see while Mary decided to do some shopping, and upon coming back, they came face to face with the umbrella wielding man. He was seated in Sherlock's chair by the fireplace, tapping his foot absentmindedly when the couple came in, and of course, when Sherlock saw him, the old hostilities retuned. Mycroft didn't have much to say, he only introduced himself to the ever so chipper daughter of John Watson, and allowed his younger brother to fume when he walked out.

_"Papa, pourquoi es-tu fâché contre Oncle Mycroft?"_ Charlie had asked once the elder Holmes had left.

Sherlock looked up at John, who was struggling to understand the partially broken French that Charlie spoke, and smirked. "Because your Uncle Mycroft is a bit of a-"

_"Okay,_ that's enough of that." John had interrupted, glaring daggers at his boyfriend as he lead her away.

The detective only laughed.

**______________**

Greg Lestrade climbed up the seventeen steps of 221B Baker St. after almost a week of not seeing Sherlock and John. The case files have already begun to to pile up, and he figured that he would just drop them by. He was curious as to what exactly the reason was behind their absence, but it was very rare that Sherlock and John asked to be left alone for nearly two weeks, if fact, it had never happened before, and the curiosity was getting the better of the DI.

He knocked on the door and rocked back and forth on his heals until he heard the light tapping of feet on the floor and the sound of the door being unlocked. The door opened, and for a moment, Greg was highly confused, because there wasn't a tall detective staring down at him. He glanced down, and was stunned to see a small girl, not a day over four, wearing a Captain America costume and clutching a black crayon in her hand. She stared up at Greg with wide eyes.

Greg blinked. "Oh, hello." He said kindly.

"Who are you?" The little girl asked.

Greg looked around for a family, but found none. "My name is Greg, I'm a police officer."

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. "Are you looking for my daddy?"

The Detective Inspector narrowed his eyebrows. "Um... No, I'm just looking for Mr. Holmes, do you know where he is?"

The little girl smiled and started to run off toward the direction of the bedroom, yelling something in a foreign tongue that he only recognized as French. He took another moment to look around, guessing that the little girl was a client of Sherlock's, but there was no one around. It was like she were by herself.

Then, a familiar dark haired man stepped around the corner. "Ah, hello, Lestrade." He said. "I figured it was you."

Greg waved. "Hello. Um... Do you have a client right now? Because I can come back." He said, glancing down at the little girl standing beside Sherlock.

"Oh, no, not at all." The detective crouched down in front of her and murmured something else in French, making the little girl pout. He gave her a look, but then pressed a kiss to her forehead which made her giggle.

Greg stood by, watching, and he was so hopelessly confused at this point that all he could do was watch. It had to be his niece or something, he had a brother after all, although from what he had heard about Mycroft Holmes in the past and what he already observed when he was first kidnapped by the man, he wasn't very pleasant, so, if the man had a wife, props to her. Sherlock Holmes wouldn't just be kind like that to a little girl, speak to her in French when she was obviously English, or kiss her forehead when she started to pout. It just wasn't done. It was so unlike him.

After the forehead kiss, the little mini Captain America girl ran off toward the bedroom, and within seconds, John Watson rounded the corner. "Hey, Greg." He greeted, his usual charming smile on his face. "How can we help?"

"I just wanted to drop off a case file I need you to take a look at, but... If you have a client, it can wait." He said, nodding after the girl.

John furrowed his eyebrows, but then promptly laughed. "Oh, you mean Charlie. No, that's my daughter."

Greg's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, just as his jaw nearly fell to floor. _"Daughter?"_

The doctor nodded.

Greg looked between Sherlock and John, trying to connect the dots. "Oh, so, you two... Adopted?" He guessed, although the look on their faces told him otherwise. "Sorry, I'm just confused."

"John had a daughter with a woman named Mary before he met me. She's been staying the week." Sherlock explained, but without his usual arrogance and snarky attitude, which was even more confusing for Greg, but he decided to never say anything about it.

The Detective Inspector shook off the previous conversation and held up the case files he brought. "I know that you two are busy, and I know you took some time off, but this isn't a normal case. Would you mind at least reviewing it?"

The doctor and his detective shared a glance, then looked back toward Greg Lestrade. "How could we refuse?" John asked. "Go sit down, Greg, I'll make some tea." As the two detectives sat down in their respective seats, John stepped back into the bedroom for a moment, only to return a few seconds later, followed by the little girl and a blonde woman who Greg assumed was the mother. The two women went toward the door and made their way downstairs, not saying a word. The doctor disappeared back into the kitchen after that, and soon returned a second time, only this time with three mugs of tea. "Sorry about that, I don't exactly feel comfortable sharing under details with my four year old daughter yet."

"No, no, I understand." Lestrade waved him off. "Shall we?"

Sherlock leaned forward into his classic thinking pose. "Tell us everything. Leave out nothing."

Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade spun the tale from the files he had been mauling over in his head for the past few days. It was a twisted case, there was no doubt about that at all. Seven missing people over the course of two weeks, all random it seemed, nothing in common, so no one thought it was serial work until the bodies showed up. They were all found days later, found in warehouses, chained by the wrist to radiators, and the cause of death was always drowning. The killer seemed to have held his victim's heads underwater in order to kill them, as there was water in the lungs, but no water on the clothing. "There's nothing that connects the victims at all, they're all random, or at least, that's what everyone else seems to think. I wanted a better opinion, so I want you to take a look." Greg finished, throwing the file across the coffee table toward the two men. "Since the victims aren't constant, we have no clue as to where he'll strike next. I need your help."

Sherlock took the files in his hands and flipped through the photos while John read through the reports, and only sat there for a minute before closing them again. "You're right about the victims being random, but you're also completely wrong. All seven victims have no connection whatsoever, however, they do have almost completely symmetrical faces. It's said that facial symmetry makes for attractiveness in a person, so obviously our killer has a hatred for it, which is why he holds their heads in the water. He wants their faces destroyed. Our killer, as a child, was probably tortured by someone who had similar facial structure, he was probably chained up at some point in his life. This is a revenge crime in a fashion."

John squinted down at the photographs and uttered something about facial symmetry that Greg couldn't hear, then looked back up. "So, how do we find the next victim?" He asked.

"Look at where these people worked." The detective said, pointing to each of their workplaces on the reports. "All on one stretch of road, same street. He must see these people every single day, meaning he lives or works nearby, more than likely it's his work place, so all we have to do is stake out the street. It's a bit of a stretch, but it's all we have to work with right now."

Lestrade scoffed. "It's a hell of a lot more than I had before." He got to his feet. "Would you come? Or..."

"It would be quicker if we did, but it's up to John." Sherlock interrupted.

John nodded. "I agree. Before he kills someone else." The doctor jumped to his feet and grabbed his and Sherlock's coats from the chair. Once the three men descended down the stairs, they stopped off in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen to see the three women of the house.

Mary saw the expressions of the three men, and stood up out of concern. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"There's a case we need to take. It's important, and we may only have a few hours." Sherlock explained, slipping his scarf on. "We need to go. We'll hopefully be back late. Don't leave the flat though, stay here."

"Of course." Mary nodded. "Just... Please be careful."

Charlie got up from her chair and ran at John, throwing her arms around his waist. "Can I come, daddy?" She asked.

John got down to her height and kissed her forehead. "No, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Not this time." He replied. "Listen to your mother, and be good, okay? We'll be back soon."

Charlie nodded. "Are you gonna get the bad guy?"

Sherlock grinned. "Of course, we are. But we have to hurry."

Once the little girl let him go, she called after them in French that only Sherlock could understand, but they didn't question it. It only made him smile.

**_______________**

They case was a hell of a lot more exciting than they originally assumed it would be. Their suspect had eight more people in his captivity when they found him, and when they tried to get to them, the suspect already knew they were coming, and he already put the other hostages into a van and drove off. They two had to chase him on foot through the streets and through back alleyways until they finally stopped him right in front of Baker St., just as Greg Lestrade and the rest of Scotland Yard caught up.

Upon waiting for the ambulances to arrive, John called Mary, who was a nurse, to come down and help him treat some of the injuries on the victims. She did that willingly, telling Charlie to stay inside while they worked on the victims and Sherlock talked to the police. Once everything was cleared up, the victims were gone, most of the police had left, and it was getting dark out, Charlie came running out of 221B and went to hug Sherlock, who immediately hugged her back, before she went to go see John. Most of the officers remaining were watching them strangely, but neither of them minded.

While Sherlock watched Charlie ask her father questions all about what he was doing, Mary came up behind him, rubbing her arms to protect herself from the chill, smiling happily while she followed his gaze. "Makes me happy, you know, just knowing that he loves her. I was worried he wouldn't, but obviously I was wrong." She said.

Sherlock nodded. "She's a wonderful child. Better than most."

"I would hope so."

The detective looked her over, finally realizing it was time to ask about the real reason behind her sudden want for bringing Charlie down. He recognized the signs the moment that she walked through the door, but he was too in shock about the child to say anything or read too much into it. He saw everything the very second she arrived. He knew there were boundaries, but this was something he needed to know. He fixed his eyes on the woman's face until he met her eyes, and bit at the inside of his mouth. "How long have you known?" He asked her quietly.

Mary didn't move. "Known what?"

He hesitated. "You know what." He kept his tone grave, so that she knew that she couldn't lie to him.

"What, that I'm a dead girl walking?" She demanded, although her voice was soft.

Sherlock swallowed hard. "Yes."

She sighed. "'Bout two weeks."

The detective's mouth went dry.

Mary Morstan looked away very briefly, tears already brimming in her eyes. He watched her attempt to hide them and swallow them down, but eventually she gazed back at him again, and he suddenly didn't want to know anymore. "It's a brain tumor. Cancer, stage four." She paused. "I'm terminal, Sherlock." Her voice broke when she spoke his name.

He was almost speechless. He tried to be delicate, but his body was screaming at him. Did John know? Probably not, more than likely not, actually. Did Charlie know? _Oh, God, did Charlie know?_ "How long do you..."

"Have?" She finished. "About six months. I'm lucky for now, the cancer hasn't gotten really bad yet, and I don't want to take chemo and prolong the inevitable. I just... Want to live while I can."

The detective's heart shattered. He didn't know what to do. "Does... Does John know?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

Sherlock bit at his lip. "Does Charlie know?"

"How do you explain that to a four year old?"

"Mary." Sherlock said again, more stern than before, but still hesitant. He locked eyes with the blonde woman before him, the one who was John's first real love, and the mother of his child, all of which he had accepted, and suddenly realized that she seemed so much older, so much more tired than she had before. "Please, just... Does Charlie know?"

Mary hesitated, wiped away her tears, and glanced over at her daughter who was making Greg and John laugh a few feet away. "She... Knows that I'm sick. That's it. I don't know how to tell her that I'm dying."

Sherlock felt like someone had put their fist through his chest. _I don't know how to tell her that I'm dying._ "That's why you wanted her to meet John and I." He guessed. "You want us to..." His voice trailed off as his throat got thick with emotion.

She nodded slowly. "I don't want her in foster care. I want my baby girl to know that she's loved, and that she never has to question it. You and John were _always_ my first choice. She needs to know that she has two fathers that love her more than the waking world, even when mummy isn't there anymore."

The detective felt her words weigh him down like heavy rocks had been placed on his chest and he was struggling greatly to hold himself up. There was so much to take in at once, he didn't know what to say or do, he felt so useless. "Mary, I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't you dare apologize like it's your fault." She told him sternly. "Don't you dare. I've lived a good life, Sherlock. I have no regrets. I went to school, I got a degree, I didn't marry that jerk I was engaged to, I have a great job that I loved, I have great friends, I have a beautiful daughter... I may be leaving younger than I expected, but I've had a happy life. I'm not scared, Sherlock. I'm sad, yes, but I know that I've lived a happy life, and I know that my daughter will be in good hands. I trust you, Sherlock Holmes." She reached out with a shaking hand and gently caressed his cheek in the sweet, affectionate, comforting way that John sometimes did when he needed it. Mary's face was stained with tears, but she still smiled through it, and it only proved to him further that women were made of steal and iron, and we're stronger than war machines.

Sherlock blinked away the wetness in his eyes, and tried not to look like his heart was simultaneously swelling from honor and breaking with the knowledge that he would have to lose Mary Morstan as a friend, especially as a friend that trusted him so. "How do we... Tell John?" He rasped.

"We tell the to truth." She replied, taking his hand. "And... We smile."

**________________**

That night, after they put Charlie to bed and settled into the living room with tea, Mary came clean. More tears were shed, more tears than when Sherlock originally figured it out, simply because John lost it. He held her face in his hands and silently begged her to be wrong, but all Mary did was sit there and wipe the tears from his eyes. They hugged and cried together, and Mary told John the same thing she told him. Sherlock looked for any reason to believe that her 'happy life' speech was a false mask she had put on to fool them, but there wasn't one. He was unsure if it hurt worse to know it was genuine.

John and Sherlock agreed to adopt Charlie once the inevitable happened. They would never dream of turning her away. They knew Mycroft would help, and they wouldn't hesitate to ask, but, until then, they insisted that Mary and Charlie move in with them. They wanted them both to have a sense of home and sanctuary. At least they could be a small, safe place in a troubling world. As long as they could keep her.

They never told Charlie, although the little girl seemed to know that it was coming. She never said anything about it, she only hugged and kissed her mother when it got really bad, and she'd lay in bed with her on days she couldn't do it on her own. She was a strong little girl, tough as nails. God, they loved her.

Mary Morstan died six months later, just as the doctors had predicted. She died smiling and peacefully in her sleep, just as she wanted, curled up in bed with her daughter while John and Sherlock sat by, reading Charlie's favorite story. They all cried when the paramedics came to take her away, although they tried to hide their tears from Charlie, who was cradled in John's arms. The flat seemed emptier after that, even with Charlie there, but they kept it up for her. The first few weeks were quiet, but slowly, very slowly, Charlie became her happy, cheerful self again, claiming that 'Mummy was always smiling, even when she was sad, and if she smiled, Mummy would never really leave her'.

One year later, one year to the day that they first met Charlie, on a beautiful day in May, John and Sherlock were married in front of a handful of friends and family. Of course, the wedding was all over the news, but it was beautiful, and the family was happy. After they got back from their honeymoon in Spain, Mycroft took it upon himself to get the paperwork done within the first few days. They asked Charlie if she wanted to keep Morstan for her last name, but she said she wanted to have theirs instead. No one said a thing.

**________________**

~Three Years Later~

"Daddy, wake up!" Came a loud voice from beside John. The doctor didn't have a chance to look before a pillow was coming down on top of his face, and when the soft feathers came down, he groaned, causing the eight year old to spiral into a fit of giggles. "Come on, Daddy, get up!"

"Sherlock." The doctor growled into the pillow. "Your daughter is awake."

There was a deep, baritone laugh from near by. "I've been up for hours, John. My daughter has been waiting for you to get up since seven."

John grumbled unintelligibly in his pillow, and pushed himself up on his elbow, allowing his vision to clear. Sherlock was standing behind Charlie the the side of the bed, both of them smiling at the doctor. "Why are you up so early?"

"Because we're going to visit Uncle Greg and Aunt Molly, remember?" She demanded. "You promised we could go today, I want to see Alex!"

John looked up to his husband in near disbelief, but saw the smile, and he sighed. "Oh, alright, darling, I'll be up in a minute." He breathed, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Hurry up!" Charlie cried before darting back out of the room.

The doctor shook his head. "I swear, she gets so excited about seeing Alex Lestrade, I bet they'll be married one day." He grumbled, pulling himself out from underneath the duvet and reaching for his clothes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, they're friends." He disagreed.

Right after John and Sherlock adopted Charlie, Greg and Molly, who had only been married a few months, found out that they were having a baby. They had a son, named him Alex, and Charlie was nearly as excited as the new parents were. Although there were four years between them, they were best friends, oddly enough.

John thought about it, then laughed. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time someone in this family married their best friend." He replied, leaning up to kiss the tip of Sherlock's nose.

The detective flushed, but didn't stop the smile from coming. "I suggest you hurry, you know how she gets when she's impatient."

"Yeah, she's like you."

The detective looked back at him with a playful glare. "Quite."

John lightly pushed him away to button up his shirt. "Make sure she eats something before we go. Our daughter is not transport." _Neither are you._

Sherlock nodded. "She had toast when she woke up."

"Good. I'll be ready to leave in a minute, go wait with her." He kissed his husband once more, then quickly went to brush his teeth, then they all left a few minutes later to see the rest of their extended family.

Molly and Greg were sitting outside in the back courtyard where Alex was playing happily with some of his toys when they arrived. They all hugged and enjoyed tea on the lawn while they chatted about whatever came to mind and the children played in the dirt. The sun was shining brightly in the sky, the breeze felt lovely, and all you could see for miles were the smiles. Charlie and Alex got filthy of course, but no one minded. It was bliss. Pure bliss.

"Alex starts school in the fall, yes?" John asked Greg and Molly at one point.

Greg nodded. "Oh, yeah. I think he's excited." He replied.

Molly giggled. "It makes him feel grown up, I think. Last week, while you three were on that double murder case, he tried to help Charlie with her homework. It was so cute."

The others laughed.

Greg turned to Sherlock. "You know, I've got to say that I'm surprised that you two are able to go on doing what you do and still manage to have time for things like this. I'm surprised you two don't spend your time in comas between cases." He commented.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's hardly a chore."

"Yes, but you're a superhero." Molly teased.

Suddenly, the two children came running up to Sherlock, and Charlie began to babble at him in French, which was still impressive to all of the other adults that couldn't make sense of it. He smiled and got to his feet, obviously agreeing to do whatever it was they wanted. Greg was pulled along as well, leaving John and Molly behind at the table. They watched their significant others play with the kids, basking in the sun, and at that moment, as happy as it was possible to be.

"How is she doing, John?" Molly asked eventually. "Charlie, I mean."

The doctor shrugged, knowing exactly what he was asking about. "She's doing okay. She misses her mum, but... She's adjusted. She knows that Mary loved her, and she knows that Sherlock and I love her to bits, as well as you and Greg and Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft loves her, and he doesn't act like he loves anybody." He snickered to himself. "I think she's okay, though."

Molly smiled sweetly at him, then turned to face the kids again. "That was how it was when my dad died. I was older than her, but it still hurt. I got better though, much better. I know she will too." The pathologist reached across the table and placed her hand over John's, giving it a light squeeze as they watched Sherlock lift Charlie in the air and spin her around while the shrieked out giggles and he laughed along. They looked so happy. "You two have done so well by her. Charlie has grown up beautifully because of you and Sherlock, and I know if Mary were still here, she would be so proud of everything you've done."

John looked over at her, and swallowed back tears. They had been so worried when they first had her that they would mess her up something fierce, with John's PTSD from the war, and Sherlock's occasional inability to recognize and understand human nature, and his past drug problem (although the detective was more worried about that that John was), and they were worried that they wouldn't be able to do it. But, as the months went on, they knew they were doing okay. The soldier smiled. "Thank you, Molly. We're... Quite proud too."

John gazed over at his husband who was rolling around in the grass with their baby girl, laughing to himself. Sherlock glanced up at the sound of the laugh, their eyes met, and in that instant, they both knew that they had made it.


End file.
